


Scars (visible and invisible)

by Aleique



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, F/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleique/pseuds/Aleique
Summary: Just because you forget about the past doesn't mean the past forgets about you.When his past actions start to get in the way of his relationship with Hermione, Ron is forced to evaluate his feelings and have tough conversations.SELF HARM content warning





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Strong, strong content warnings for self harm and suicidal ideation. They are the focus of this story. If those trigger you, please do not read this (or take steps to make sure you're safe should you choose to do so). 
> 
> Written to help me process some things from my own past.
> 
> Not fully written yet, but I anticipate around 10 or fewer chapters totalling a maximum of 5K words, so chapters will be super short. Updates likely to be sporadic as writing this requires a very particular mindset.
> 
> Eventually a happy ending, with smut.

If you asked him, years later, how it had all started, Ron wouldn’t have been able to answer. He wasn’t sure when he started subtly scratching himself, and then pinching his skin between his nails enough that he was sure he would start bleeding. Then, eventually, it turned into burning his skin for brief flashes of time with his lit wand. But he distinctly remembered the first time he took one of the family’s paring knives and glided it along the skin of his front thigh. He could recall with astounding clarity the beads of blood that formed along his thigh. Most importantly, though, he could remember how in that single pristine moment, his brain simply stopped thinking.

All through fourth year, his brain had kept up a constant mantra of snide _you’re not good enough_ and _I wonder why you even try_ and _you’re a worthless friend._ He couldn’t tell Harry and Hermione about it, certain that they wouldn’t ever understand and would think even worse of them than they had to begin with. It was impossible to get a break, to sleep soundly, to recover, when his brain ceaselessly worried about everything, even the small and insignificant things.

Ron would never have considered himself a masochist - he didn't  _like_ the pain, but he couldn't deny that it did help. At least, it helped while he did it, even if afterwards it brought fierce feelings of shame and meant he had even more secrets he had to keep.

That summer after fourth year, shortly before the Weasleys left the Burrow for Headquarters, he made four, evenly spaced, cuts. It earned him almost a full minute of blissful silence from his thoughts, and he could remember thinking to himself that something that helped this much couldn’t be that bad. It would turn out that it would be far from the last time.


	2. Chapter 2

Five years later, he had long since stopped cutting, but it continued to haunt him in subtle ways. Sometimes he had been able to sneak some Murtlap Essence - or, even better, Essence of Dittany - from either the family cupboard or more often from George and Fred’s secret stache. Most of the time he hadn’t had such luck, though, and he had a web of silver scars that stood out starkly against his pale freckled skin. Most of the time it didn’t bother him, and he had become adept at changing without letting other people see in the dorms, but...he had never told Hermione.

Now that he was older, he was relatively certain that Hermione would be an empathetic listener. Even with that knowledge, it didn’t make telling her any easier. And he needed to tell her, because they had now been dating two years. Particularly, Hermione had been making consistent hints towards wanting to take their relationship to the next step and having sex. They’d progressed slowly from kissing, to heated make-out sessions, to heavy petting over clothes, and then to under shirts. Ron had resolutely refrained from anything that would involve taking his trousers off and exposing the scars on his thighs.

His reticence had evidently been noticed, because last night he and Harry had had perhaps the most awkward conversation of their entire nine year friendship. Hermione, Harry explained, had begun to convince herself that the problem was her, that Ron didn’t find her attractive enough. They both knew she had a tendency towards overthinking things, and apparently having two years to think on this had done quite the invisible number on their relationship.

Ron had spent the entire 24 hours since his conversation with Harry rehearsing a script in his head. The script had gone through about a dozen different iterations, and he wasn’t at all confident in it, but it couldn’t wait any longer. So here he was, sitting on the couch of his one bedroom flat, waiting for Hermione to come over. It was 6:50, and Hermione had said that she’d be here at seven sharp. In Hermione speak, that really meant five minutes early. Even though the floo was practically instantaneous, Hermione was obsessively punctual, as though the concept of being late was some great, Azkaban-worthy crime. 

He had some semblance of an idea of how he wanted the conversation to go, but it would all depend on Hermione. Ron couldn’t bear the idea of her pitying him, or looking at him any differently, which was part of the reason he’d been putting it off this long.

The alarm on the floo chimed, signaling that someone was about to come through. 


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione stepped through, and he got up to greet her with a hug and a kiss. In her annoyingly perceptive way, though, Hermione stepped back and looked up at him. “Ron? Is something wrong?”

“It’s not exactly that something is...wrong. But there’s something I need to tell you.” He tugged on her hand, leading her to the couch. It was a three person couch, and they each sat at one end of it, leading to a conspicuous gap between them. Ron started with the beginning he’d practiced. “I know you’ve noticed that I, um, haven’t wanted to go...all the way, with intimacy. And I wanted to tell you why, because Harry mentioned you thought that there was a problem with you.”

Hermione’s voice tightened as she replied, “Harry wasn’t supposed to tell you that. It was private.”

Ron had no qualms about throwing Harry to the hypothetical wolves. Harry would understand, and Hermione would only be angry at him for so long.

“I know, love. But this is important, and it’s not about Harry. The thing is...I’ve got scars. On my legs. And I haven’t wanted you to see them.”

His girlfriend managed to look insulted at this. “Ron, we’ve all got scars. Both visible and invisible. We fought in a war, of course we have scars. You’ve seen mine - the one from Dolohov, the Mudblood one from Bellatrix. Why would you think I’d care that you have them?”

“Because mine,” Ron started, and then stopped. This wasn’t hardest part. “Because yours,” he tried again. Third time’s the charm, right? “Because yours are battle scars. And mine, mine are things I did to myself.”

Hermione’s mouth formed into a round O, as though for once she’s been momentarily struck speechless. The moment quickly passed. “Oh. Oh. Like...self-harm? That’s what Muggles call it.”

Now it was Ron’s turn to be at a loss for words. He wasn’t the only one? Enough people did it that it _had its own term?_ In the Muggle world, anyway. “Other people do it?” Embarrassingly, his voice broke as he asked it.

“Oh, Ron. Yes, other people do it. There are Muggle scientists called psychologists who research things like that. I don’t know that much about it, mind, but if you really wanted I could try and find out more.”

Ron exhaled, his body being partially relieved of the tension he’d been carrying all day. “No, that’s alright. It’s okay. I just…” he trailed off as he feels a tear slide down his right cheek. His right eye always started to cry first, the damn traitor.

Hermione slid over on the couch so that she was next to him, and enveloped him in a tight hug.

“Just give me a minute,” Ron whispered.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't forgotten about this! Just been mostly focusing on Jumpstart (my big overwhelming project of a fic), and school, and just kinda not in the right mindset.

It seemed as though they were curled up on that couch for a small eternity, cuddled tightly together. Ron held onto Hermione like she was a lifeline. “Thank you,” he murmured to her. “Thank you for being here.”

Hermione sat herself up so that she could look at him. “Always. I’m  _ always  _ here for you, Ron. Thank you so much for trusting me with this information. If I ever did anything to make you feel like I wouldn’t react well, I’m sorry. But, you know, about...sex.” Her voice tightened awkwardly, because as well-read and confident as Hermione was in most areas, she was honestly still a bit of a prude at times. She cleared her through and continued. “About sex. We never, ever have to do something if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if you felt like I was pressuring you. I wasn’t trying to, I was just worried that it was me.”

Ron shook his head and gave his best effort at a grin. “It’s got nothing to do with you.” He tipped her chin up and ducked in for a short kiss. There wasn’t anything sexual about it, just the soft reassurance that comes from feeling loved and expressing your love for others. 

He was half tempted to try to move things into sexual grounds right then and there, but something held him back. Ron had removed the primary barrier towards further intimacy, but his emotions (which had graduated to at least a tablespoon) were rough around the edges, and he felt like the slightest thing was liable to make him break down again.

So instead, feeling a bit like a berk, he asked, “Want to make dinner?”

Hermione chuckled, almost as though she had read his mind. “Sure. I found this really good recipe for enchiladas…”

As they made dinner together - which was mostly Hermione directing the preparations and Ron providing company and the occasional chopping - Ron felt the most relaxed he had in ages. There was something freeing about not having secrets from the person you cared most about.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not offer constructive criticism on this fic - it's written for me, not for other people.


End file.
